French Press

You are lead to a room with a surgical table in the middle.

"Please take off your clothes and lay down," she commands.

You begin to strip, every instinct in your mind telling you to run, but your body complying like a good servant. You try to ask her why, but the words fail to come out of your mouth.

You lay down on the slab naked, the cold metal on your back making you freeze, but you do not move even the slightest. Not a shiver or a shake. Above you, you can see a metal box with blinking LED lights and various syringes sticking out.

"This will only hurt for a second," she says, lowering the device to enclose your body.

You feel your body convulse in both pain and pleasure. The needles injecting a pink fluid into your system, the light burning away excess body hair. You can feel your muscles burn away and give way to smooth as silk skin. You want to scream in pain, but your mouth begins to moan higher and higher pitch, until it is a voice you do not recognize.

The device stops and begins to raise. You no longer feel the coldness of the table. Instead you feel the comfort of fabric hugging your curves.

"Get up!" She commands, "Walk to the mirror."

You curtsy with your new black dress and walk up to the mirror. A woman is staring back at you, you don't realize who it is until the woman speaks again.

"What is your name and occupation?"

"Mon namé eez Yvétte and ai am a maid fair la neighbairhood associashe-on," the reflection says in a high pitched yet seductive voice.

"What are your duties?"

"To clean ze 'ouses and attend to mastair's needs, both mundane et séxual."

And it dawns on you that this woman is not another woman, she is now you.